


Fifty Roses

by Semebay



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Adoption, Divorce, Forgiveness, M/M, Marriage, Misunderstandings, Reunions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-14
Updated: 2013-11-15
Packaged: 2017-11-07 17:21:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/433572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Semebay/pseuds/Semebay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once upon a time, Alfred and Arthur were two college students that fell in love. Like many couples, they moved in together, got married, decided to start a family. Like many more, the relationship wasn't meant to last.</p>
<p>Or maybe it was.</p>
<p>Sometimes, you're just meant to be together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

They had met in Boston, and at the time no one could figure it out.

 

From their first sight of each other in the dark pub by the college to when they’d finally met at the harbor, it had been obvious they were interested. The low lighting in the pub hadn’t been able to hide Arthur’s glances towards the man at the bar, or Alfred’s outright stare. There had been no more than that. Their separate groups had left for different parties, and they hadn’t been given a chance to meet.

 

They were students at the same university, but Arthur was into politics, while Alfred concentrated on physics. They’d seen each other only once on campus, when Arthur had been running to the library. They had passed, but Alfred had been late for chemistry. Neither could stop, and that had been the last time they’d seen each other.

 

At least, until they had run into each other while walking along the harbor.

 

No one would say it was romantic. Few people were there when they had finally met face-to-face, but those that saw them talking later admitted that the two were surprisingly comfortable with each other, before either had said a word. Alfred, forward as he usually was, slung an arm around Arthur’s shoulder and pulled him into conversation. Neither swooned, and there were no hearts floating suspiciously in the air around them (Arthur didn’t even have enough decency to smile), but it was obvious there was something there that no one else could see.

 

It was a surprise when they had left the harbor, and no one saw them again until Alfred appeared in the food cafeteria the following day. Alfred talked about coffee and donuts at some old café that Arthur had taken him to (he made sure to tell them about how Arthur had scolded him for his choice in food, and had gotten himself tea and a scone).

 

Then Alfred said they would meet again, and their next meeting would most likely be some sort of study date with math and science. Arthur, though he wasn’t at all interested in the sciences, had requirements to fulfill because of his attendance in the liberal arts section of the college. Alfred, intent on majoring in physics, was more than happy to help.

 

So they did meet, and surprisingly their study date was at a local McDonald’s that Arthur insisted time and time again he hated. Apparently the fish sandwich wasn’t as bad as he originally said it was; they ended up staying in there for three hours while they did work and studied, and then left together with more food to eat while they walked through the streets and found their way to a park hidden within the confines of Boston’s streets. Neither said what had happened there, but it probably had nothing to do with studying. The following week, when one of Alfred’s friends saw the two of them talking outside the library, he saw only a relaxed smile on Alfred’s face that made Arthur’s cheeks brighten slightly with color.

 

It was from that point on that things changed rather drastically. It became unheard of to see one without the other when neither had classes or other obligations, and Arthur could often be found in the lounge on Alfred’s floor in the dormitory, sitting and reading a book or doing his homework while Alfred pressed himself as closely as possible. Sometimes they would move to Arthur’s dorm and the same situation would arise, except that Arthur’s single room (one of the many benefits of being an international student) would often be utilized for whatever it was they did.

 

Some people joked about what was happening behind the closed doors. Some insisted that Alfred was probably just a cuddler, considering how touchy he was around Arthur, while others said that every horny college student wanted sex and Alfred was no exception.

 

It wasn’t as though their curiosity would ever be satisfied. Alfred was surprisingly tight-lipped when it came to Arthur, most likely because Arthur had managed to threaten him into keeping quiet.

 

It took a month for the doubt and confusion around the relationship to give way to acceptance. The jokes became games to make Alfred nervous and to rile Arthur up to get a reaction. There were friends that left them because of disapproval for their relationship, and though Alfred would become depressed and put out by those losses, Arthur had a way of turning Alfred back into his old cheerful self. It mystified and amused their friends, how the man with the usually chilly demeanor could cheer someone up that had seemed to fall so low. Arthur had always been known to hole himself up in the library or his room, but the addition of Alfred had certainly changed a lot.

 

With the time they spent together, it wasn’t a surprise when Arthur moved into a Boston apartment and invited Alfred to join him. Alfred was more than happy to get away from campus food (though according to him, cooking was lost on Arthur), and moved in without any hesitation. Their life was more private then, something that obviously made Arthur happier. He had never enjoyed the public displays of affection that Alfred couldn’t stop pulling him into, and their move into the same apartment kept almost everything behind closed doors.

 

Arthur was also becoming busier, so he appeared only in class, the library, or when he was walking to grab a bite to eat or go home.

 

Alfred told his friends that final projects were coming up, and Arthur was worrying. He was trying to finish projects and theses, and to the surprise of many, he had been looking into changing his visa so that he could extend his stay in the States.

 

Even more surprising was the information that Alfred let slip when he was out drinking with friends, information that had stunned many and made others wonder exactly how serious the relationship was becoming: Arthur was looking into applying for dual citizenship.

 

Arthur was not only changing the expiration date for his visa, but planning on extending his stay in the States indefinitely. It was something that no one had foreseen happening, as Arthur had always expressed his interest in returning to England. He had planned to leave after he graduated, but finals passed and he remained in the States, still in that apartment with Alfred and pushing aside his wishes to return overseas.

 

While Alfred continued his education, Arthur began his search for work. He managed to get a job with a small newspaper, and Alfred had said he was quite happy. Arthur remained there for just over two years, giving Alfred time to graduate and complete a year of research.

 

Then they packed up and moved south together, and no one heard from them until the day the pictures started arriving in the mail.

 

* * *

 

“Arthur, get in the picture.”

 

Arthur grumbled something under his breath and glared at the small switch in his right hand. It was attached to a cord that ran back to the camera set up on a tripod by the stairs, and Arthur could only think of how disgustingly clichéd the whole picture ordeal was.

 

It had been all Alfred’s idea. He had found the tripod at some garage sale and had brought it back to the house, all smiles and sly words.

 

Coercion: Alfred was a master of the art. Arthur hadn’t really considered pictures when the papers were signed and they had started painting the extra bedroom upstairs. In the months leading up to the adoption, he had been more concerned with removing the old carpet and fitting all the outlets with plastic childproof plug before he’d started using his days off to paint the walls in blues and reds. When Alfred had brought home the tripod and tried it out with their camera, Arthur had waved it off in favor of finishing a unicorn on the wall. He hadn’t expected the camera to reappear later that month, and had no idea how Alfred had managed to get him to sit in the window seat in his favorite sweater, holding the remote in his right hand while he gave his left hand to the infant Alfred was holding ever so carefully on his knee.

 

Their son was, simply put, adorable. He grasped Arthur’s left hand with his fingers (no longer than pins), and blinked at the camera. His eyes were a light blue, though Arthur wasn’t sure if they would remain that way. He had heard of eye colors (and hair colors) darkening with age. He hoped it was true, at least for his hair. It was wispy and thin, and looked almost white when they took him in the light.

 

Arthur sighed and shifted his hand so that he could rub one finger against their son’s mouth, and he was met with a look of shock and confusion.

 

Alfred shifted his hands where they supported Peter’s back and neck, and he pulled him farther up his leg so that he was closer, and so that Alfred could hold him in place with one arm against his stomach. He reached over to Arthur with his other arm.

 

“Eight seconds,” Arthur told him after he clicked the button.

 

“Awesome,” Alfred said, and he yanked Arthur closer. The camera clicked before Arthur could protest, and they had their first family portrait.

 

* * *

 

“Don’t chew on that.”

 

Peter looked up from the book he had found on the floor, and his blue eyes widened when Arthur picked him up and removed the book from his hands. Arthur held him carefully and walked back to the couch, pausing only to grab the bottle he had left on the stand by the hall. He let himself fall back onto the couch while Peter reached out with flailing arms for the bottle, and then Peter caught it. He wrapped his lips around the nipple and raised the bottom of the bottle above his head to drink.

 

Arthur yawned while Peter drank, the bottle squeaking from Peter’s excited sucking. Thursdays had always been slow days at his office, days that his boss had finally decided were essentially useless. It was nice being home more with Peter. It cost less on babysitting, and Peter got to spend more time with his Dad while Daddy Alfred was still at work.

 

Peter obviously loved having Arthur at home. Arthur seemed to know exactly what he wanted, from bottles to having his fingers played with, and would eagerly join him on the floor and watch him try to roll over onto his stomach. Alfred did the same when he was home, but Peter very obviously showed a preference for Arthur. Alfred laughed whenever he held Peter, for Peterwould search over his shoulder for Arthur’s whereabouts. The search would only end if he were given to Arthur, or if he saw Arthur leave the house. Then he would contentedly babble at Arthur or settle in Alfred’s arms and flex his fingers in a sign that he was hungry.

 

Arthur watched the last of the formula drain into Peter’s mouth, and then as Peter pulled it from his mouth with a pop. Peter stared at the bottle for a minute before he let it drop on the floor, where it rolled under the couch.

 

“That was completely unnecessary,” Arthur muttered when he turned Peter so that the infant’s chin rested on his shoulder (covered with a cloth). He patted his back lightly until he heard the small release of air, and then he carefully cradled Peter in his arms.

 

Peter was just getting to sleep when Alfred walked in through the front door and dropped his bag by the kitchen. Arthur glared but Alfred ignored the look. He toed off his shoes and walked across the room to the couch, leaning down to give Peter a kiss on the forehead.

 

Peter shifted slightly, grunting and turning his head towards Arthur while Arthur glared at Alfred.

 

“He loves his mommy,” Alfred observed with a grin, and Arthur narrowed his eyes.

 

“Don’t do that.”

 

“But you’d be a cute mommy,” Alfred protested, and Peter yawned. His eyes shut and Arthur rubbed his cheek with a finger. It was soft and smooth, and Arthur bent his head awkwardly to kiss it.

 

“Cut that out,” Arthur whispered and frowned at Alfred. Then he carefully stood and moved to the stairs. Alfred followed behind him as they walked up, going into the smaller bedroom and carefully placing Peter in the crib.

 

“He’s probably gonna wake up soon,” Alfred said when he touched the mobile of unicorns and fairies above Peter’s crib (chosen by Arthur, who insisted that Peter had a right to dream about whatever he wanted and imagine magic). “Want to, uh …?”

 

Arthur shrugged. “That’s fine.” He walked to one of the doors in the room and turned the knob to make sure it was still locked. While he tested it, Alfred walked back out of the room and snickered.

 

“You know, when he’s older, he’s gonna be the coolest kid in town. His own bathroom and all.”

 

“Oh, belt up,” Arthur groaned when he left Peter’s room, the baby monitor on and the door left open. Alfred had already shed his sweater and crawled into bed, though he had left on his jeans.

 

“If you have grass stains on those _again_ , I’m probably going to beat you,” Arthur threatened as he crawled in beside Alfred. Alfred simply laughed when Arthur collapsed under the sheets, and he pulled the blankets up higher before he clicked off the light by the bed. The shades were pulled to block out the afternoon sun, and Arthur let his head fall on the pillow so that he could get some rest before Peter was up and demanding more food or a diaper change.

 

Arthur moved closer before Alfred fell completely asleep, and he draped his arm over Alfred’s side.

 

* * *

 

Peter hadn’t changed much by the time he was four, except that he had become taller, his hair had grown into a shade of blond that resembled Arthur’s own, and his blue eyes had darkened. He had begun talking when he had turned a year old, babbling at Arthur and Alfred when he wanted something. It had been confusing until he had figured out how to point or say simple words, and finally identified Alfred and Arthur as Daddy and Dada, respectively.

 

Arthur enjoyed the games Alfred played with Peter. He liked sitting on the old couch and watching while Alfred and Peter rolled around the floor, knocking over stacks of blocks or building large play mat puzzles. Alfred always pulled Peter into broken conversation. The conversation was good for Peter, though more often it revolved around Arthur instead of Peter’s favorite colors or the sounds that ducks made.

 

It was far too common to hear Alfred ask Peter if he loved Dada, and if he liked Dada’s cooking. Peter was always eager to say he loved Dada and his food, and Alfred always laughed at that. Arthur had long ago made sure that Alfred didn’t speak ill of his cooking while around Peter. Arthur still had to feed him, and he didn’t need Alfred to make him think his food was terrible so that Peter would refuse everything he tried to give him.

 

Alfred stayed silent about Arthur’s cooking, but he had managed to get Arthur to promise only to give Peter sandwiches and snacks when Alfred wasn’t home. When he was home he’d make meals for all of them, and when Alfred was the only one home, he’d feed Peter snacks like goldfish or slices of bologna. Peter was a messy eater (much like Alfred), and Alfred was all for playing with his food. Peter was given the chance to be messier with Alfred and neater with Arthur, though both gave him attention that was probably equal in intensity.

 

Of course, when all three were together, they all played together or watched movies. It wasn’t rare for Arthur to have Peter in his arms while Alfred lay in his lap as they watched movies together. Peter would watch movies like _Lady and the Tramp_ and _101 Dalmatians_ with rapt attention while he squeezed his stuffed collie, and found great pleasure in kissing Arthur’s cheeks (and Alfred’s when he pestered Peter for long enough). Arthur would laugh at the tiny lips on his cheek, and he would return Peter’s kiss with a peck on the forehead. Then Alfred would beg Arthur for a kiss as well, and Arthur would give it to him.

 

Saying that having Peter around was easy would be a lie. He was a temperamental child at times, and would throw toys when he had a fit. But he would also cling to Arthur’s pant leg when Arthur made sandwiches, or climb into Alfred’s lap to show him what he’d drawn a picture of.

 

Life was difficult, but it was worth it.

 

* * *

 

That was why no one expected the divorce when Peter had just turned six, or the following settlements and custody hearings. Friends and students alike were shocked by the news that Alfred and Arthur weren’t going to be together anymore. There had been no warning, no clues, not even a change in attitude that could have indicated something was wrong. The official documents only said that there were irreconcilable differences.

 

Six months after the split, six months of Arthur reassuring Peter that everything was all right and that he still had his Dada’s love, Arthur moved back to England.

 

Peter stayed with Alfred in Virginia for the school year. The court papers said that he would spend his summers and alternate Christmases with Arthur in England. Ludwig, a work friend and the man Peter came to know as his uncle, would travel with Peter between the States and England.

 

Peter got more attention from each parent. If it was possible, Arthur doted on him even more than he had before.

 

Arthur and Alfred rarely spoke after that except to set up flights and make sure that Peter was fine (though usually Peter was the one to say that he was fine, and having fun). However, they didn’t see each other again, and each stayed in his own country.

 

For whatever reason, they felt it was for the best.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Four years later, Alfred and Arthur live an ocean apart, and Peter splits his time between them.

_**Four years later** _

 

* * *

 

“What next?”

 

“Roller coaster!”

 

“ _Again?_ What, are you trying to make me sick?” Alfred sighed exaggeratedly and sat down on a bench, tugging Peter over. The boy frowned at his father and pulled on his hand in an attempt to make him stand, but Alfred wasn’t budging.

 

“Dad,” Peter whined. He continued to pull futilely, but Alfred waited until he gave up then pulled him down onto the bench beside him.

 

Peter gave up protesting when he was finally sitting. He simply kicked at the pavement and watched glumly while parents with kids walked by, laughing and jumping around and probably going to one of the roller coasters.

 

“Every year.” Alfred’s voice broke through the disappointed haze that Peter’s mind had become and he ran his fingers through Peter’s hair.

 

Peter quickly pushed his father’s hand away and his frown deepened into a pout. He had to shout to be heard above the screams and loud mechanical clacks from a ride behind their bench that was spinning a group of teenage girls upside-down. “What “every year”?”

 

“Every year we come here, every year I sit down, and every year you want to run to the next thing without giving me a break.” Alfred mirrored Peter’s pout, not noticing the fascinated stare he was receiving from a woman getting fries at a food booth. “And every year I pull you down on this bench, and you sit, and you wait, and you pout, and the same thing happens _every time_.” Alfred arched his eyebrows, waiting for Peter’s inevitable protest.

 

Peter didn’t make him wait for long.

 

“I do _not_ ,” Peter said indignantly, and his cheeks burned with either embarrassment or anger (probably embarrassment). He poked a finger at his father’s chest. “’Sides, what do _you_ do every time?”

 

Alfred stared at him for a moment and then let out a breath. “I always beat you to the ride.”

 

Alfred jumped up from the bench and started running, Peter close behind shouting, “Cheater!” They dodged around slow families and strollers, and every so often Alfred would tease Peter by slowing and looking back to see how far ahead he had gotten.

 

Peter continued to shout at his father, even when Alfred stopped suddenly and snatched him up.

 

“Told you.”

 

“You cheated!”

 

“I won.” Alfred didn’t bother putting Peter down when he stepped into line behind a family of five. The father in front of him looked back and chuckled at how Alfred shifted Peter so that he was slung over Alfred’s shoulder and staring at his back.

 

“Quite a catch you got there,” the father said, and Alfred nodded seriously.

 

“Escaped convict. He’s not talking, so I’m forcing the information out of him with scary roller coasters.”

 

The other father laughed and Peter kicked his legs.

 

“Whoa there, buddy! No need to get violent on me!”

 

Peter’s kicking slowed but didn’t stop, and Alfred grinned. He slid his hands from Peter’s sides to his ankles and gripped them tightly before he pushed Peter over his shoulder so that he was dangling by his ankles.

 

Peter squealed in shock when his hands touched the tar, and he began to laugh.

 

“Talk!” Alfred called over his shoulder. The children in front of them had turned back and giggled, and Alfred repeated the order.

 

“Never!” Peter shouted back, and Alfred lifted slightly so that he could turn around and put Peter on the ground without dropping him on his head.

 

“You’ll talk!” Alfred said, and he scooped him up once more and followed the line when it finally moved forward.

 

Peter laughed into Alfred’s shirt and Alfred pressed a kiss to his forehead.

 

“Ew, cut it out!”

 

“Not a chance.”

 

Alfred put Peter down only to get on the ride, and helped strap him into his seat (not that Peter wanted the help).

 

Alfred laughed during the ride while Peter screamed at the top of his lungs. When they got off, Alfred had fingernail marks on his forearm from how tightly Peter had clung to him. The marks took some time to fade, and it wasn’t until Alfred had convinced Peter to sit down for an early dinner that they were completely gone.

 

“You should’ve had a burger,” Alfred told Peter through a mouthful of meat and lettuce. Peter frowned at him and bit off the end of his corndog.

 

“We always have burgers at home,” Peter pointed out. “And we _never_ have corndogs.”

 

Alfred nodded. It was true. “You want me to buy a box at the store? We can have a movie and game day before Ludwig picks you up. Eat snacks all day!”

 

Instead of expressing his excitement, Peter frowned and fell silent while he dipped his corndog into a bowl of ketchup. He took a bite out of it and pointedly looked away from his father.

 

Alfred groaned and put down his burger. He stared at Peter and didn’t say anything until the boy glanced back at him.

 

“He’s your dad,” Alfred said, and Peter grimaced. “Don’t look away from me.”

 

Peter dipped his corndog in the ketchup again and watched Alfred from the corner of his eyes. Alfred reached across and cupped his chin in his hand, forcing him to look.

 

“I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but it needs to stop. He loves you. A lot. You need to respect that and get over this thing.” Alfred let go of Peter’s chin and returned to his burger. “He’s sent me pictures of you in your room. Lotta Legos in there. And he takes you out all the time. Last year you said he was taking you to some awesome theme park. What happened to that?”

 

Peter didn’t reply. He dipped his corndog in ketchup again and took a rather vicious bite out of it.

 

“Peter?”

 

Peter grunted something while he chewed.

 

“Seriously, kiddo. He’s your dad, he loves you. Now knock it off, please?” Alfred took a bite out of his burger and then reached across to tousle Peter’s hair.

 

“I’ll think about it,” Peter mumbled, and Alfred nodded his approval.

 

“Awesome! Now how ‘bout ice cream?”

 

* * *

 

 

The ride home took over an hour, but it was worth it. Alfred made sure to stop at a Dairy Queen where they grabbed ice cream cones, then they continued home with Alfred threatening to drop his cone in Peter’s lap whenever the boy let the smile slip from his face.

 

“Cheer up,” Alfred told him when he had finished his ice cream and no longer had anything to threaten Peter with. “You’ll get to hang with Uncle Luddy.”

 

“It’s Uncle Ludwig, Dad.” Peter frowned at him. “He hates when you call him Luddy.”

 

“Nah, he likes it.” Alfred grinned and hit his blinker to switch lanes. “He’s just shy about it.”

 

“Liar.”

 

“Heroes and fathers don’t lie.” Alfred tapped Peter’s cheek. “We’re awesome like that.”

 

Peter pushed Alfred's hand away and looked out the window. He covered his mouth with a hand to hide his smile and stared at the cars they passed.

 

Alfred poked Peter in the side and Peter twisted to push him away again.

 

“So, you wanna come to work tomorrow?” Alfred asked while he laughed, and Peter snorted.

 

“Yeah—stop  it!” Peter shouted when Alfred continued poking at him.

 

“Why?” Alfred moved his hand around to tickle Peter’s stomach, leaning awkwardly and trying to concentrate on the road while he did so.

 

Peter started to giggle, pulling his legs up in the seat and batting at Alfred’s hand. His giggles soon grew into frantic shouts and his hits went everywhere while he flailed. “Stop it stop it stop it!” he laughed. He jerked around in the seat and Alfred stopped tickling him long enough to grab his shoulder and pull him closer to keep his head from bouncing off the window. Peter used the closeness to hit Alfred in the stomach, and Alfred dropped low over the steering wheel and pretended to wheeze.

 

 “Okay, okay! You win, uncle!” Alfred pounded on the steering wheel and Peter threw his fists up in the air triumphantly, looking out the window at passing cars and grinning. Alfred pushed off the steering wheel and sat up straight. Farther down the interstate was one of the large green city signs, and he checked his mirrors before merging into the lane on the far right. He passed the sign and Peter pressed his hands to the window to read the sign.

 

“Williamsburg, two miles!” Peter shouted, and Alfred reached over to ruffle his hair.

 

“I got it,” Alfred said, “thanks bud.”

 

“You’re welcome.” Peter pulled his hands away from the window and slapped them on his knees as though he were playing the drums. “Can we get soda?”

 

Alfred turned on his blinker as they reached the exit to Williamsburg. “Sure, why not? Gotta make sure you remember the taste of America before you go.”

 

“I don’t wanna go.” Peter sank back in his seat and looked out the window.

 

Alfred placed both his hands on the steering wheel and squeezed. He took a few deep breaths before he rubbed above his eyebrow with his left hand. “Peter, you’re going,” he said slowly. He watched Peter from the corner of his eye and sighed. “It’ll work out, it always does. You just gotta give it a chance.”

 

“I don’t want to.”

 

Alfred patted Peter’s shoulder and squeezed it. “I know.”

 

Greenspring’s Grocery was the closest to their house, and their last stop before they returned home. Peter huffed when Alfred parked the car, and didn’t say a word when he got out and followed Alfred inside.

 

“Want to ride?” Alfred asked when he grabbed a cart just past the front doors.

 

Peter made a face and shook his head before he ran towards the produce section.

 

Alfred called for Peter to slow down and paused at a fruit display. Peter stopped running and walked back to him, then hovered over the oranges. Alfred tapped the back of his head with one hand and grabbed a cantaloupe with the other.

 

“Hey!”

 

Alfred put down the cantaloupe and Peter stuck his tongue out when one of their neighbors pushed a cart towards them.

 

“Hey, Linda. How’d the interview go?” Alfred pressed his hand against Peter’s mouth, earning a lick and a _blech_ of disgust from the boy.

 

Linda smiled as she watched Peter recoil and rub his face with the back of his hand. “I thought it went well. If we’re lucky, I’ll be teaching Peter’s math class next year.”

 

“Awesome!” Alfred patted her shoulder. “I hope you get it. Peter’ll love having you in class, right?” Alfred looked down at Peter.

 

Peter shrugged and crossed his arms. “I don’t like math.”

 

“You’ll like it if she’s your teacher.” Alfred didn’t see how Linda’s smile grew. He grabbed Peter around the waist and lifted him up, making him gasp in shock and then begin to flail. “Hate to run, but we have plans tonight,” Alfred told Linda over Peter’s head.

 

“No problem!” Linda looked down at her cart. “I just wanted to say hi. I’ll see you later, then?”

 

“Sure.” Alfred walked around to the front of his cart and grabbed the basket. He rolled it along behind him while shushing Peter and warning him against kicking over the displays they passed.

 

Peter didn’t pay heed to any of his father’s warnings. He was more interested in escaping the arm that pinned him against Alfred’s side, and the armpit that was only a few inches away from his upper back. “Put me down!” Peter demanded, squealing when Alfred let go of the cart to tickle him with his other hand.

 

“No.” Alfred stopping tickling him long enough to put the items in the cart into the child’s seat, and then he dumped Peter in the basket. Peter bounced and grabbed the side of the cart while it creaked, and he glared up at Alfred.

 

“Uncool!”

 

“I put you down, didn’t I?”

 

“You threw me!” Peter thrust his finger out and pointed at Alfred’s face.

 

“Throwing you would mean that I projected you with force,” Alfred pointed out. He grabbed the edge of the basket and pulled Peter behind him. “I dropped you.”

 

“You’re a jerk.” Peter crossed his arms and rested his chin on them.

 

“I’m your dad.” Alfred roughed up Peter’s hair and stuck out his tongue. “What kind of ice cream d’you want for dessert?”

 

“Triple chocolate fudge.”

 

Alfred laughed. “So what? Are we fattening you up before you go?”

 

Peter shrugged. “Maybe. I’ll get too fat to fit on the plane.”

 

Alfred’s laugh softened until he fell silent, and he shrugged. He didn’t look at Peter while he pulled him to the freezer aisle.

 

* * *

 

 

Peter had perched himself on the counter when they got home, only moving to a stool when Alfred’s stare became too much. He sat with his chin on his crossed arms and watched while Alfred wandered the kitchen to cook something (Peter had decided on the ride home that ice cream and corn dogs were not nearly enough for a growing boy, and Alfred had groaned before adding green beans to the shopping list. Peter hadn’t been impressed).

 

“We should just enroll you already. Bet you’d get in.”

 

Peter squinted and raised his head. “What?”

 

“College.” Alfred turned up the heat of the stove and stirred the greenbeans.

 

“I wanna go.” Peter grinned at Alfred and grabbed for his free hand. “Sign me up!”

 

“In the fall.” Alfred pulled his hand away and set the timer. “Remind me to call your principal in the morning.” He pulled the spoon out of the beans to stir the noodles, then he set it down and turned around. He pulled out the nearest bar stool and sat down opposite Peter. He placed his elbow on the table and rested his cheek in his palm. “Don’t want him to miss your note. Again.”

 

“That wasn’t my fault!” Peter shouted, and Alfred waved a hand to make him lower his voice.

 

“I know, I know.” Alfred drummed his hands on the counter-top. “Your principal’s...” He hesitated and shrugged. “Well, you don’t need to hear it.”

 

Peter shifted so that he was kneeling on his stool and he leaned across the counter to grab Alfred’s wrist. “C’mon, tell me!”

 

Alfred shook his head. “You’ve got two more years with him, I’m not turning you against him.”

 

“I don’t like him anyways,” Peter said.

 

Alfred shook his head. He pulled his hand away and spun his chair around to look at the stove. He stood and grabbed a strainer he had left on the counter, and set it in the sink. He drained the macaroni and beans while he frowned. “Well, he doesn’t know how to do his job. I’ll just leave it at that.”

 

“Tell me,” Peter demanded.

 

“When school’s over.” Alfred dumped a packet of powdered cheese into the macaroni and stirred it together. “I’ll tell you then.”

 

“So... Tomorrow?”

 

Alfred stopped stirring long enough to turn around and flick Peter in the forehead. “No.”

 

Peter slid back into his chair and stuck his tongue out at Alfred’s back. “You suck.”

 

“Language.”

 

“You stink.”

 

“That’s better.” Alfred placed the pots of macaroni and green beans on the counter and checked the corn dogs in the oven. “Go grab some paper plates. Unless you want to do dishes in the morning?”

 

“No way.” Peter hopped down off the bar stool and ran to the cupboard to grab the stack of paper plates. Alfred had pulled the corn dogs out of the oven, and he dumped food on the paper plates as soon as they were before him.

 

“I’m gonna pick out a movie,” Peter said, and he ran back out before Alfred could hand him his plate. He ran past the stairs into the living room, then dropped on the floor in front of the DVD cabinet. He dug through the movies for something interesting, and preferably something that had an R rating. Alfred had never let him watch one before, but there was a first time for everything.

 

Alfred didn’t wait for Peter to ask when he walked into the living room with a plate in each hand and set them down on the coffee table in front of the couch. “No. How about X-Men?”

 

Peter sighed and grabbed the DVD. “You suck.”

 

“Language!”

 

“You stink.”

 

* * *

 

 

Alfred talked with Peter’s principal the following morning to avoid a repeat of the year before, when the note he had written was ignored and Peter was sent home to an empty house instead of the college where Alfred worked. The phone call guaranteed that Peter would get on the bus to the college where Alfred would be waiting with a group of college students and one of the many homemade rockets that they would be firing into the sky from a field by the campus.

 

If Peter felt self-conscious about being the only student getting off the bus at the college, he didn’t show it. He didn’t say a word to the other kids on the bus when he trotted down the steps and jogged towards the group that was gathered outside one of the doors.

 

Alfred was talking to his students and waving a hand in the air when Peter joined the group. Alfred took a step to the side and continued talking, acknowledging Peter by placing a hand on his shoulder and pulling him against his side. Peter reached up and took the rocket that Alfred handed him, and he hugged it to his chest.

 

“So,” Alfred finished, “whichever team gets liftoff first gets twenty points. Remember to record the height, distance and duration of your flights so I can score you. Winning team gets extra credit, and all participants get free pizza.” Alfred pumped his fist in the air. “Let’s blow stuff up!”

 

The class cheered and dispersed, and Alfred took the rocket back from Peter. “You gonna chase rockets for me?”

 

“I can,” Peter said slowly.

 

“But only after we do our own, right?” Alfred pointed towards a stack of boxes. “Wanna beat ‘em to the sky?”

 

“Yeah!”

 

* * *

 

 

Alfred and Peter launched their rocket less than twenty minutes into the competition, while Alfred’s students were still looking through the materials they were given. Peter took off across the field in pursuit of the rocket and Alfred shaded his eyes from the sun with a hand to watch.

 

Peter ran past the student groups and plunged into the trees at the other end of the field, looking up at the sky for the rocket. It tilted downwards farther past the trees, and he ran faster so he could catch it where it fell.

 

When Peter finally found the rocket, it had landed among the thickest branches and wedged itself in by a rock. He had to struggle to retrieve it, but when he finally pulled it loose he hurried back out of the woods to return it to Alfred.

 

Alfred had left their launch point to help a group of students with their miniature-launch pad, and he grinned when Peter ran back across the field, rocket held high over his head. Another group called for Alfred’s help, and he nodded towards Peter.

 

“Have Peter take a look. He might be able to help.”

 

* * *

 

 

A silver sedan was parked in the driveway when they returned home. When he saw it, Alfred glanced over at Peter, who was staring at the car with an expression of despair.

 

Alfred pretended he hadn’t seen. He parked next to the other car and Peter climbed out before he could say anything. Alfred shut off the car in time to watch Peter run into the house and slam the front door behind him.

 

Alfred groaned and leaned back in his seat. He massaged the bridge of his nose with his right thumb and index finger. The car was a rental, and only one person they knew drove one when he was around.

 

Alfred grabbed the pizza from the backseat and followed Peter into the house. Peter was nowhere in sight. Alfred glanced into the living room and found Ludwig seated on the couch with a book in hand.

 

“Long time no see,” Alfred said.

 

“Yeah.” Ludwig nodded in the direction of the stairs. “Is he still..?”

 

Alfred sighed and leaned against the wall. “He’ll get over it. He just needs a bit of time.”

 

“Right.” Ludwig slipped a bookmark in between the pages and closed it. “You’re going to send him to London for Arthur to deal with. You couldn’t have talked to him about this?”

 

Alfred’s lip twitched. “You’re an idiot if you think I haven’t tried to talk it out of him.”

 

Ludwig set the book down on the cushion. “Sometimes I wonder.”

 

“Hardy har har,” Alfred grumbled. He walked across the hall to the kitchen and dropped the pizza on the counter. Ludwig followed him and watched while he pulled paper plates from a cupboard and searched the fridge for a bottle of soda. “I’ve tried to talk to him, but he won’t even tell me why. What am I supposed to do?”

 

Ludwig didn’t have an answer for him. Alfred opened the pizza box and stared at it silently for a moment before shouting for Peter to come down for dinner.

 

A few minutes passed before they heard Peter descend the stairs, and Ludwig waited for Peter to walk past him before he sat down at the table.

 

“You packed?” Ludwig asked, and Peter shrugged.

 

“He’s packed,” Alfred answered instead. “He just needs to remember his homework and his passport.”

 

Peter grimaced and tugged a piece of pizza out of the box.

 

“Plane leaves at two,” Ludwig reminded him.

 

“He’ll be ready and you’ll both be there.”

 

 

 


End file.
